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goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
morrowmods) wrote in goodmeme2023-10-06 06:18 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME
test drive meme
Welcome to the opening test drive of goodmorrow! If you're just getting here, you can find our game premise here and our full navigation here.
It's a new game, but you don't have to play a newbie! This game has a mechanic that allows people to app characters who aren't new to the setting. Please check over on our application guidelines for more information about how it works. We've also got a summary of World Events that occurred prior to this TDM, so your oldbie can have some things to reference.
Thank you for playing! We're excited to have you.
goodmorrow! If you're just getting here, you can find our game premise here and our full navigation here.It's a new game, but you don't have to play a newbie! This game has a mechanic that allows people to app characters who aren't new to the setting. Please check over on our application guidelines for more information about how it works. We've also got a summary of World Events that occurred prior to this TDM, so your oldbie can have some things to reference.
Thank you for playing! We're excited to have you.
the summoning
Arrivals
There is always a buzz around the time of a summoning ritual. Will there be dozens? Or will this time only yield a handful? Will the stakes become dramatic enough for there to be a glimpse of one of the Old Ones, and the chance to partake in their incomprehensible greatness? The ones who believe consider it a day of hope and new beginnings. However, there are much more mundane concerns for the skeptics. Summoning means that there will be a whole new group of displaced folks who'll need to be oriented. They'll come hurting and confused, squirming with the bone-deep pain of travel and weary after hours of hearing about how they've been Chosen to herald the approach of the Old Ones. People will be here seeking help, and most of the native townsfolk only understand how to preach at newcomers. The new arrivals will likely need help from more experienced expats who better understand where they're coming from.
dessicated and unremarkable
Forbidden Knowledge
Even after the end of the summoning ritual, many kept their eyes watching the sky. There is always the risk of summoning more than just a new batch of novitiates. When pulling things from other worlds, chances are high that something else might tag along.
A few hours after the end of the introductory sermon, scraps of paper start to blow down from the sky. They travel on the breeze and seem to get into everything. They land on roofs and float through open windows. They get tangled in tree branches and end up underfoot on walking paths. Page after page delicately makes its way to the earth.
It must be wisdom from the cosmos! The rumor sweeps its way across town in hushed whispers. The gossips are saying that the elders want the pages collected, so that they can properly archive and study them. They promise a handsome reward to those who can gather enough to fill a tome, but that seems somehow less attractive, even as something to wish about. Whether deliberately hunting out the pages or accidentally encountering them in everyday life, it will soon be obvious that these are pages full of something best left unseen.
Some of the manuscript pages seem mundane enough. The words seem strangely familiar, as if they might be legible if one focuses on them hard enough. It's just a matter of figuring out handwriting or deciphering a dialect. It must be. A page might prove so engrossing that it leaves a person in an enthralled state, silently locked in a quest to understand something that looks so comprehensible only for it to veer off into the uncanny. This lock might leave them tremendously suggestible to any words spoken around them, their minds struggling and desperate enough to latch on to anything comprehensible at all.
Other pages seem less similar to human writing and will likely create less of a hold on those with the misfortune to view them. The pages covered in glyphs and arcane symbols feel almost empowering their foreignness, almost as if one might simply let the experience wash over them and let it run through them. Those unlucky enough to state too long at one of those pages might find themselves overwhelmed by instances of magical outbursts. It feels like a strange sort of sneeze as the arcane energy suddenly sparks a small thunderbolt into existence, or turns a bushel of hay into a solid block of iron. The effects are seemingly random, but wear off on their own in a few minutes. It's probably fine. What kind of damage could be done in such a short time?
This might be a relief to the illiterate members of the community, if it wasn't for the leathery pages. More parchment than paper in texture, these pages seem to carry something ominous in the rough fibers of their material. When touched without protective gloves, these pages force their handler to feel a glimpse of unspeakable suffering. It comes from a place beyond pain, lighting parts of the mind that were never intended for use. Screaming might be a way to express it, but more often it manifests in an expression of extreme emotion. Hysterical mania seems nice until it doesn't end and keeps a person up at night unable to stop laughing. Murderous rage might be inconvenient for the other members of the village. Whatever the emotion is, it's gone far beyond any normal limitation and will stay that way for the next several hours.
Enjoy the hunt, Revelbrooke. Try not to end up with too many papercuts.
A few hours after the end of the introductory sermon, scraps of paper start to blow down from the sky. They travel on the breeze and seem to get into everything. They land on roofs and float through open windows. They get tangled in tree branches and end up underfoot on walking paths. Page after page delicately makes its way to the earth.
It must be wisdom from the cosmos! The rumor sweeps its way across town in hushed whispers. The gossips are saying that the elders want the pages collected, so that they can properly archive and study them. They promise a handsome reward to those who can gather enough to fill a tome, but that seems somehow less attractive, even as something to wish about. Whether deliberately hunting out the pages or accidentally encountering them in everyday life, it will soon be obvious that these are pages full of something best left unseen.
Some of the manuscript pages seem mundane enough. The words seem strangely familiar, as if they might be legible if one focuses on them hard enough. It's just a matter of figuring out handwriting or deciphering a dialect. It must be. A page might prove so engrossing that it leaves a person in an enthralled state, silently locked in a quest to understand something that looks so comprehensible only for it to veer off into the uncanny. This lock might leave them tremendously suggestible to any words spoken around them, their minds struggling and desperate enough to latch on to anything comprehensible at all.
Other pages seem less similar to human writing and will likely create less of a hold on those with the misfortune to view them. The pages covered in glyphs and arcane symbols feel almost empowering their foreignness, almost as if one might simply let the experience wash over them and let it run through them. Those unlucky enough to state too long at one of those pages might find themselves overwhelmed by instances of magical outbursts. It feels like a strange sort of sneeze as the arcane energy suddenly sparks a small thunderbolt into existence, or turns a bushel of hay into a solid block of iron. The effects are seemingly random, but wear off on their own in a few minutes. It's probably fine. What kind of damage could be done in such a short time?
This might be a relief to the illiterate members of the community, if it wasn't for the leathery pages. More parchment than paper in texture, these pages seem to carry something ominous in the rough fibers of their material. When touched without protective gloves, these pages force their handler to feel a glimpse of unspeakable suffering. It comes from a place beyond pain, lighting parts of the mind that were never intended for use. Screaming might be a way to express it, but more often it manifests in an expression of extreme emotion. Hysterical mania seems nice until it doesn't end and keeps a person up at night unable to stop laughing. Murderous rage might be inconvenient for the other members of the village. Whatever the emotion is, it's gone far beyond any normal limitation and will stay that way for the next several hours.
Enjoy the hunt, Revelbrooke. Try not to end up with too many papercuts.
ooc notes
Thanks for checking out this setting! If you have questions, feel free to direct them to the first thread below.
eddie munson | stranger things
[ once upon a time, there was a boy who daydreamed of being spirited away to another world. dreams of waking up one day in the middle of one of his campaigns, no longer the dungeon master but the chosen one sent to save the day. brandishing a steel sword and wielding it with the poise and confidence of a knight by day, and introducing metal to a world that only ever knew bards by knight.
then chrissy cunningham slammed into his ceiling, bent and broken in ways no human body should bend. eddie munson didn't much care for magic anymore after that. all those dreams of heroics died with the horrible thump of her body hitting the ground, the cold reality that a world filled with magic lacked grim, glory, and loot. it was just his own, but worse.
and this... this is worse. much, much worse.
eddie's not loving the preaching. granted, he's not loving much of anything right now. teeth clenched tight and body coiled tight like a spring, ready to run. there's a bottle in the long sleeve of his robe and his hand is strangling the neck, ready to break it and fight for his life at a moment's notice. anyone who looks too comfortable here is given a wide berth as his mind races and he tries to identify potential friend or foe.
or if any of this is even real. ]
Hey, hey, uh - [ if you look sufficiently out of place, regardless of how else you look, you may find yourself being approached ] are you, uh, [ eddie stumbles, losing whatever composure he had. he rakes his fingers through his curls and grits his teeth, looking a little desperate. ] shit man, I, uh...
[ something bongs in the distance and he nearly jumps out of his skin. ]
Are you, uh, real? Is this [ his voice pitches up slightly ] for-fucking-real, man? Like is this happening or have I just fucking lost it
forbidden knowledge.
[ okay, well. this is real. that's been confirmed thrice over. eddie's had his complete nervous breakdown (and a half) and here he is, trying to be useful. maybe thankful to be alive even if it feels kind of like all he did was trade one cult for another. his knees are bouncing through the sermon, teeth chomping at his nails as he tries to settle his nerves and figure out the next move.
and then there's paper fluttering from the sky. a hand instantly lifts to catch one and he's sure, somewhere in the less frantic part of his mind, that this is bad move. that this thoughtless act is karma for all the times he laughed at a player failing a perception check.
but no one acts like they do at a table in real life. eddie squints down at the page and tries to decipher it, but the more he stares the less he understands. feeling the words slip and slide against his mind, nothing catching. someone speaks and some part of his mind latches on to what they said, blinking up at them in confusion. ]
Uh - sorry, man, I was zoning out... run that by me again?
the summoning
1. he is not dead.
2. eddie munson, inarguably, is
and, like, yeah, maybe in the grand scheme of things? in this whole messed up "you've just been magically transported to creepsville and the total creep residents expect you to do some major creep stuff for them" scheme of things? eddie munson being alive and well and understandably freaked out? maybe not that weird.
that doesn't stop steve's breath from catching and the color from draining from his face, though. he screws his eyes shut as if that might ward away whatever sick hallucination he's experiencing but images of eddie's bloody, lifeless body paint themselves across the backs of his eyelids. great. he inhales, slow and shaky, and forces himself to open his eyes, facing the eddie-thing in front of him once more. this is fine, right? it's fine. )
Uhhh. Yeah. I'm real. Jury's still out on the rest of this bullshit, though. ( he pauses, and a worried frown creases his brow. ) Are you, uh — ( real? alive? actually eddie munson? ) — are you good?
( stupid, he thinks. obviously eddie isn't "good." steve isn't either. nothing about whatever the hell is happening here is good.
there's something else, too. a tiny little worry wiggling in the back of his mind, worming its way into his thoughts until it's almost all he can think about.
could this be a vecna thing? )
arrival
When he's approached, he does turn to look at source of the voice. A little disheveled. A little jumpy. Fear actually does have a scent, and the vampire is fairly familiar with it.]
As much as I'd love to believe that this is some wine-induced hallucination, no, I am unfortunately very much real, and so is this hells forsaken place.
[His voice is smooth accent poshly British. And he's very clearly an elf, pointed ears, fine features. He's also a vampire, but that's far less obvious, thankfully. That part tends to alarm people.]
I take it you're also a new abductee?
forbidden knowledge
only she still doesn't know where "here" is. revelbrooke isn't exactly a place any exandrian would be familiar with. the continued reference to the old ones frightens her much in the same way that hearing the name briarwood might have filled percy with a deep-rooted desire for revenge once upon a time.
but she's stuck here, so it's time to play nice. she puts on her bravest face and...gets thwacked with a piece of parchment raining from the sky? well, that's strange. she gets a glimpse at a couple, but since she can't make any headway out of it, she decides it clearly must be time for a team-up and immediately hones in on the nearest person: a human who looks to be close to her in age. she thinks she sat near him during the sermon, so he must be new here, too. she rushes up to him and tries to peek over her shoulder, trying to get his attention, but it seems like he's engrossed in the piece of paper he has been mulling over. )
I asked if you wouldn't mind helping me. Everyone else seems just to be collecting them, but you looked like you were also trying to figure out what they say. Maybe we can work together?